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“When it comes to protecting my family, I find I’m rather less principled than I once imagined.” She stepped closer witha shrug. “If your contacts must be creative, I’d consider that justice, not subterfuge.”

Wonder softened the harsh lines around his eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Seems my compass has found a new north.”

“You didn’t start this war,” she said, resting a hand on his arm. “But I won’t fault you for fighting it with every weapon at your disposal.”

His hand covered hers, warm and solid and real. The rigid set of his shoulders eased by degrees. “I didn’t burn down his warehouse, Abigail.”

“I believe you.” The doubt that had clawed at her chest since James had handed her the paper dissolved. “I shouldn’t have questioned?—”

“You had reason to wonder.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her wrist, the touch sending warmth spiraling up her arm. “I’ve not always been transparent with you.”

The grandfather clock chimed eight, its bronze voice echoing through the morning quiet.

“The girls will be up soon,” she murmured, though her feet seemed rooted to the carpet.

Graham nodded, but neither moved. The space between them hummed with the memory of last night’s kiss and this new understanding that had just passed between them—the acknowledgment that they would both cross lines they’d never imagined crossing, for love, for family, for each other.

“You know,” Abigail said, the thought crystallizing as she spoke, “I wouldn’t put it past Hollan to have orchestrated the fire himself.”

Graham went perfectly still. “What?”

“It’s remarkably convenient timing, isn’t it? A sympathetic tragedy to make him appear the victim rather than the aggressor, just before our court appearance.”

Graham stared at her for a moment. Then he threw back his head and laughed—a sound of pure, delighted disbelief.

“You,” he said, stepping closer, his hands framing her face with reverent care, “are brilliant.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m merely observing?—”

His mouth claimed hers, cutting off her protests. This wasn’t the tentative exploration of last night, but something more urgent, more purposeful. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her until her toes barely brushed the carpet. She clutched at his shoulders, anchoring herself in the storm of sensation.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes blazed with focused energy that transformed his exhausted features with predatory sharpness. “You may have just handed me the key to our victory.”

“I merely suggested?—”

“You saw what I couldn’t.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentle now. “I’ll be back by supper. We’ll rest easy tonight, I promise you. Nothing is going to harm this family.”

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the study with the lingering taste of his kiss on her skin and her body humming with heat.

To busy herself, she moved to his desk and gathered the scattered papers into neat stacks. His certainty had been infectious, but experience whispered warnings in her ear—victory was rarely so simply achieved. Still, the fierce determination in his eyes had kindled something in her chest, a flame that refused to be extinguished.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

“Your Grace?” Ms. Norwood stood in the doorway, already dressed for the day in her sensible gray gown. “The girls are asking for you. Mary Ann is most concerned about her hair ribbons for today’s outing.”

Abigail smoothed her nightdress, acutely aware of how she must look—hair tumbled, lips still tender from Graham’s kiss, eyes bright with secrets. “I’ll be right there.”

Ms. Norwood’s gaze flicked to the empty desk, then to the faint smile still playing about Abigail’s lips. “I trust His Grace is well this morning? James mentioned he had an eventful night.”

“He’s quite well. Just stepped out on an urgent errand.” Abigail closed an open ledger and stacked it neatly with the others. “He seemed rather excited about it, actually.”

“Ah.” The governess’s mouth quirked with knowing amusement. “I’ve observed that dukes, as a species, are prone to peculiar bouts of inspiration at the most inconvenient hours. My previous employer, the Duke of Wemberly, once ordered the entire east lawn dug up at midnight because he was convinced Roman artifacts lay beneath it.”

“Did they?”

“Nothing but worms and one very disgruntled badger.” Ms. Norwood’s eyes twinkled. “The duchess was not amused.”

Laughter bubbled up from some deep place in Abigail’s chest, washing away the last traces of morning tension. “Well, I doubt His Grace’s quest will involve digging up the garden, at least.”